


Semistrunnaya Gitara.

by attasaurus



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Insomnia, Singing, lullaby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attasaurus/pseuds/attasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaby can't sleep and there's no alcohol anywhere nearby so Illya steps in and tries to help.</p><p>(Semistrunnaya Gitara = Seven-stringed guitar)</p><p>-<br/>Comments are definitely welcomed!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Semistrunnaya Gitara.

Gaby’s insomnia was acting up again. She paced the suite, annoyed that there wasn’t a bar in it. 

“Who would book a room without a bar?!” She grumbled and flopped on the sofa, startling Illya who was intent on a game of chess against himself. He straightened up and looked over at his partner (they were technically exclusive at this point but he just liked how ‘partner’ sounded more… ambiguous).  
  
“I told Waverley to get us room without bar.” He was amazed at how fast Gaby’s head whipped around to look at him.  
  
“…Why?!“  
  
Illya shrugged, “Because you depend too much on alcohol. Because alcohol makes you wake up with headache. Because-”  
  
“Oh? You took away the one thing that helps me sleep!“  
  
“There are other things that can help you sleep, Gabriella. Like,” He gestured to the chessboard in front of him. “Chess. Or, if you would prefer, I get you book on cars?” He leaned back just in time to avoid a cushion to the face.  
  
“ _Sie dumm fuhrt_!” Gaby trilled. “I don’t want a stupid book about cars and I definitely do  _not_  want to play chess!” She slumped into the sofa, groaning. “I just want to drink myself to sleep!” She grabbed a pillow and smacked it over her head before groaning again.   
  
Illya stared at his partner for a good whole minute before he sighed and reached out, tugging on her pant leg.  
  
“What?” Came the muffled voice.  
  
“Come now, Gabriella.”  
  
“I hate it when you call me that.“  
  
“That is your name, no?”  
  
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean I want to be called that!“  
  
Illya sighed again and got up. Gaby heard the chair scrape against the floor and removed the cushion from over her head. “What are you- Illya!” She yelped, letting go of the cushion and wrapping her arms around Illya’s neck as he stooped to pick her up. “What are you doing?!”  
  
“Bringing you to bed, what do you think I’m doing?” He looked down at her, a golden brow raised. Gaby blushed.  
  
“Well, if you’re trying to sleep with me, I can tell you I’m  _not_  in the mood!”   
  
“It is okay. I do not want to sleep with you. Well, I will be sleeping with you on the bed but that is not the point. The point is I am trying to help you go to sleep.“  
  
“Hmph. Well, good luck with  _that_.”   
  
Illya looked down at Gaby and gave her one of his more dazzling smiles - the man could smile if he wanted to - and Gaby had to admit, she was glad that it was something that he reserved for her and her only.  
  
“You are staring.” Illya pointed out, teasing her as he gently lowered her down onto the bed they were sharing. Gaby could feel her cheeks heating up even more and she lifted up her chin imperiously.   
  
“Yes. So?”  
  
“So nothing.” He straightened up. “Get comfortable. I will be back.”   
  
“ _Natürlich_.” She grunted as she pulled the duvet down so she could slide in. “Get comfortable, he says. I will get you book on cars.  _Da, tovarisch_! That will be a good idea! I love cars! God knows how I’m going to fall asleep reading something that would only make me want to. Go. Fix. Cars!” She punctuated each word by smacking a hand on the pillow.   
  
“Did pillow do something wrong?” Illya’s voice was heard from the bedroom doorway.   
  
“No.” Gaby replied sullenly before laying down to look at him. She noticed the battered casing he was carrying and pointed to it. “ _Was ist das_?“  
  
Illya entered the room and sat at the edge of the bed, the casing nestled across his lap. He opened it and pulled out a guitar. It was old - it looked old - but when Illya plucked expertly on some of the strings, it was melodious. “A guitar? When did you get a guitar?”  
  
Illya shrugged, “Was walking down the street when I see an antique shop. Guitar is Russian - see?” He pointed to the guitar strings. “Thickest string to thinnest. A  _semistrunka._ Seven strings. I saw it and it reminded me of home.” He paused, a small grin on his lips. “It also reminds me that I have a little Chop Shop girl who needs help sleeping.”  
  
Gaby reached out and touched a guitar string before she plucked it and made a dull  _twang_. “So, you’re saying you can play something that could help me sleep?”  
  
“ _Da_. At least, I think it will help you relax. That’s why you need the alcohol, no? To relax and forget?” At Gaby’s small nod, Illya set the casing down to the floor and pulled up his legs, crossing them on the bed before he set the guitar on his lap. “Okay. I will try.“  
  
He experimentally plucked on the strings, testing the pitch before he started strumming. “Ah, there it is.” He hummed appreciatively. Gaby was… for the lack of a better word, gobsmacked. She watched as Illya’s slender fingers danced across the strings, much like a cat watching a string dangle in front of its eyes.  
  
And then it happened. Illya sang along as he strummed.  
  
_‘Ya mnogo let pidzhak noshu._  
_Davno potersya i ne nov on._  
_I ya zovu k sebe portnogo_  
_I pereshit pidzhak proshu.’_  
  
Gaby propped herself up on more pillows, sitting up higher when she heard the words tumble out from his mouth. His voice was low but somehow it just worked - he made the song his. It was soothing.  
  
_'Ya govoryu emu shutya:_  
_"Perekroite vse inache._  
_Sulit mne novyie udachi  
__Iskusstvo kroyki i shitya.”_

 _Ya poshutil._ _A on pidzhak_  
Serezno tak pereshivaet,  
_A sam-to vse perezhivaet:_  
_Vdrug chto ne tak._ _Takoy chudak.’_  
  
By then, Gaby decided she needed to move closer. She got out from under the duvet and crawled over to where Illya was. Illya grinned when she rested her head on his thigh. He paused his strumming.   
  
“Tired already?” He asked, reaching down to tuck a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Gaby just waved a hand.   
  
“Mmm, don’t stop singing.”   
  
Illya tutted in amusement before he resumed his singing, this time closing his eyes.  
  
_'Odna zabota nayavu_  
_V ego userde molchalivom:_  
_Chtobyi ya vyiglyadel schastlivyim  
__V tom pidzhake._ _Poka zhivu._

 _On predstavlyaet eto tak:_  
_Edva lish ya pidzhak primeryu -_  
_Opyat v tvoyu lyubov poveryu_  
_Kak byi ne tak. Takoy chudak._  
_Opyat v tvoyu lyubov poveryu  
_ _Kak byi ne tak. Takoy chudak.’_

  
At the end of the song, Illya set aside the guitar and sighed before he opened his eyes…only to find Gaby asleep where she was - all curled up on the bed and using his thigh as a pillow.  
  
Illya chuckled. “I guess I don’t have to move anywhere tonight…” He reached back, piling up the pillows so that he would be able to lean back as comfortably as possible. Reaching out, he gently pushed Gaby’s hair off her face.  
  
“Goodnight, little Chop Shop Girl.“

—

When Gaby woke up the next morning, she felt amazingly refreshed - a first for someone who often woke up hungover. It was after a moment that she realized, that sometime during the night, she had somehow ended up on Illya’s lap and had proceeded to curl up there like a kitten. 

Illya, bless him, had automatically wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling off and had remained that way until she woke up.

“How was your sleep?” He asked. As usual, his voice was always alert in the mornings. It was annoying to Gaby, who wasn’t a morning person at all.

Gaby stretched out languidly in Illya’s arms and let out a big yawn before she sat up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“It was the best sleep I’ve ever had. Thank you,  _liebling_.” She hummed, pressing her forehead against his and grinning. No. She wouldn’t be needing alcohol to help her sleep anymore. Not when she had him.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Sie dumm fuhrt!_ \- You stupid head!  
>  _Was ist das?_ \- What is that?
> 
> -
> 
> Yeah! Another fic where Illya's singing. This was mostly inspired by [this](http://thetriofromuncle.tumblr.com/post/133536313294/armie-even-taught-guy-now-to-play-the-guitar) gifset of Armie teaching Guy how to play the guitar (also the gifset where Armie's playing the ukelele).
> 
> The song Illya sings is 'Old Jacket (Stariy Pedjak)', a cover of Bulat Okudzhava's song by Regina Spektor. 
> 
>  
> 
> _I’ve worn my jacket far too long,_  
>  It’s getting shabbier and frailer.  
> And so I take it to a tailor  
> To see if something can be done.
> 
>  
> 
> _I tell him, “Now it’s up to you_  
>  To remedy the situation.  
> The magic art of alteration  
> Should make my life as good as new.”
> 
>  
> 
> _It was a joke – but he takes on_  
>  The task with single-minded passion,  
> Bringing my jacket up to fashion  
> As best he can. The funny man.
> 
>  
> 
> _He trims and sews without a word,_  
>  With such meticulous precision,  
> As if upon a sacred mission  
> To have my happiness restored.
> 
>  
> 
> _He thinks I’ll try the jacket on,_  
>  And then – the clouds will part above me,  
> And I’ll believe that you still love me…  
> Well, think again. The funny man.


End file.
